Now shut up." Del tossed the canister beside him, and the man clutched it as though it were a sack of nuggets.
"Can I be of any use ?" she asked, looking up at them.
"Nope.

Scurvy.

Nothing'll do 'em any good but God's country and raw potatoes." The pocket-miner regarded her for a moment.

"What are you doing here, anyway?
Go on back to high ground." But with a groan and a crash, the ice-wall bulged in.

A fifty-ton cake ended over, splashing them with muddy water, and settled down before the door.